» Poetry
At the Delachaise
Julia Johnson You tell me your husband is really a leopard. I tell you that you've had too much wine. You insist that he has all of the qualities and attributes and characteristics and the coloring of a leopard. And that he loves you for your beauty. I ask why you didn't know this when you first met him and you insist you did and I ask why you would marry a leopard. You say that you knew no one would want to meet him but that you had to marry him. I tell you I can't wait to meet him and I promise I really do. I really do want to meet him. We share a tall cone of fries in white paper. At the end of the night, we take off our masks and step onto the sidewalk, and kiss each other in the air instead of touching.